


All Figured Out

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Series: Kiss and Make-Up [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, M/M, Meeting the Parents, domestic angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9379298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: Sam is telling some big lies and Steve isn't too happy(Or the one where Sam doesn't want Steve to meet his family)





	

“Nat and Clint are looking for one more person to be in their laser tag group this weekend. It’s a two-day tournament. You interested?”

Steve looked up from the news story on his iPad. (AIM was back at it again with the nonsense, stockpiling all sorts of raw material that couldn’t and wouldn’t lead to a happy ending. Steve was sure Fury already had a finger on that pulse point, but he’d send along the article anyway.)

“This weekend?” he asked Sam.

Sam nodded and came to sit in the kitchen chair beside him. He put his feet in Steve’s lap (wearing Thor socks with little capes hanging from the back). “Bucky is banned from the place,” he explained. “I told Nat you might be free.”

Steve shrugged. “Alright. If Fury doesn’t put me on anything.” He pressed his thumbs into the arch of Sam’s foot, massaging gently.

“Cool cool cool,” Sam said. He swiped Steve’s coffee mug and took a sip.

“Why’d they bypass you?” Steve asked. “You get banned too?”

Sam shook his head. “Got a thing. With some people. Had to politely decline Nat’s invite.”

“A thing?” Steve grinned.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “An event.”

“Why so evasive, _mon amour_?”

Sam widened his eyes innocently. “Evasive? I just…didn’t want to bore you with all the details of my life.”

Steve’s hands stilled on Sam’s foot. “I like the details of your life, Sam. Hence the moving in together.” He gestured at all the as-yet unpacked boxes on the kitchen floor. They had officially bought a place together two months ago, taking their serious relationship into very, very serious territory. (“Property,” Nat had said when she found out their plans. “That’s a bell not easily un-rung.”)

“Misty, Rhodey, and I are hanging out.”

“Misty coming all the way down here for the weekend?”

“We’re going out of town.”

“The beach?” Steve asked. It wasn't warm enough for it, but that was the only thing reasonably close for a weekend away.

Sam smiled nervously. “To Georgia actually.”

 Steve frowned.

“Georgia where your mama lives,” he said (He did not ask. He knew damn well where Miss Darlene lived, woman he had yet to see in the flesh).

“Did you know they’ve got an opera, ballet, symphony orchestra, and theater in Atlanta?” Sam asked. He tapped his fingernails on the kitchen table. “That’s some pretty classy shit. That’s real cosmopolitan for a city in the South.”

“Sam,” Steve said. He pushed his boyfriend’s feet out of his lap and took back his coffee.

“I think they have four or five art museums. Impressive, right? Like, New York, who? D.C. where?”

“Sam.”

“Botanical gardens,” Sam squeaked. “Coca Cola headquarters.”

“So, you’re just never gonna introduce me to your family? That’s how it’s gonna be?”

“It was a last-minute thing?” Sam said, rubbing the nape of his neck. His voice had neared whistle-high qualities, confirming Steve’s suspicions. “Very heat-of-the-moment, sure-I’ll-go kind of stuff,” Sam piped.

“With Rhodey and Misty.”

“That’s different. They’re fam—” Sam winced and Steve glowered.

“Actually,” he said, over-enunciating his words to keep from shouting, “Misty is your ex. Who lives in Harlem. And you met Rhodey well _after_ you met me.”

“I—”

“Shaking hands with him one time before you got your wings does not count.”

Sam bit his lip sheepishly. “Steve--”

“Why won’t you let me meet them? It’s been long enough. We have a house together.”

“I know,” Sam whined.

“Do they not ask about me?” Steve asked. “Do they know I exist? Am I just a roommate to them?”

Sam slouched down in his seat, making little discontented noises. When he noticed that Steve wasn’t letting him off the hook just because he was uncomfortable, he sighed dramatically. “It’s not what you think, Steve. I just need…time.”

“To come up with a really good excuse?” Steve asked. He held up his hand. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I hope you guys have a great time this weekend. I’ll be playing laser tag with Nat and Clint.” He collected his iPad and coffee mug and swept out of the kitchen to get dressed for work. He didn’t have his meeting with Fury until 9 and it was a cool 6:30, but he needed out. Sam had jabbed the seething bear of Steve’s insecurities right in the eye and it was not gonna be pretty if he stuck around much longer.

Steve arrived at the SHIELD campus at 7:15, ridiculously early by most standards, but there were plenty of people around. SHIELD never slept, it seemed. Steve sat in one of the observation rooms that looked out over the gym and watched a couple agents going through some hand-to-hand tactics. He squinted. Yep, that was Sharon down there.

Steve wondered idly how different thing would have been for him if he and Sharon had come to be. The meeting-the-family thing would have been a hell of a lot weirder, that was for sure. Yeah…best not to think about that. Sharon tossed her partner over her hip and dropped her knee into his chest. The man tapped the ground to yield and they started over.

“This is my spot,” Clint said nonchalantly, coming to stand by Steve. “My roost, if you will.”

Steve looked over at Clint, who looked disheveled and sleep deprived (as always). “Sorry, man.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Clint grabbed Steve’s shoulder as he turned away. “I’m a sharing man. You don’t have to go. You look like someone kicked your dog. I’ve been told I’m an excellent listener.” He tapped his purple hearing aids. “If you speak up.”

Steve huffed and shook his head. “Looks like I’m doing laser tag with you and Nat.”

Clint nodded. “Sam said you wanted to see what all the fuss is about. Signed us all up for a two-day tournament.”

“Is that right?” Steve asked. His hands clenched the safety rail tightly, the cold metal in sharp contrast with the angry heat of his palms.

“Yep. And lemme tell you. You will not be disappointed. There is no greater joy than shooting a bunch of middle-schoolers on a Saturday afternoon.” Clint sighed. “I mean, other than staying in bed doing nothing. But the shooting-middle-schoolers-thing is a very close second.”

Steve gritted his teeth against the swarm of anger in his throat. It felt a little like he was going to throw up.

“Bucky got a little _too_ into shooting middle-schoolers. There is such a thing as ‘going too far.’ But you’re probably good, right? Don’t have too much pent up aggressi—”

Clint cut off his words as he noticed that Steve had just bent the safety rail in his hands.

“Dude.”

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled. “I gotta go.”

“Listen,” Clint shouted after him. “If you’re gonna pull a Bucky, tell me now. Nat and I take laser tag very seriously.”

Steve took out his phone the moment he rounded the corner, ready to text Sam a caps-locked message of displeasure when he knocked into Rhodey in his War Machine suit.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Most people say excuse me,” Rhodey quipped. “But sure, fuck to you too.”

“Sorry,” Steve said. Were he and Rhodey ever going to have an interaction where they didn’t have this much animosity? “I didn’t see you.”

“Must be the suit,” Rhodey said. “I keep telling people it’s too subtle. What with the guns and bulk and general massiveness.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He looked up at Rhodey’s face plate. “I heard you’re going to Atlanta this weekend with Sam.”

Rhodey nodded. “Taking Monica to meet Miss Darlene.”

“Ah,” Steve said. “Misty taking Danny along?” His voice was doing a weird, squeaky thing that he hated.

Rhodey took a step back. “What’s it to you?”

Steve nodded. “So I’m the only one not invited on this little field trip. Cool. That’s…cool. That feels--great. That’s cool. That’s great.” He took a deep breath. “It is good.” He tried to smile at Rhodey in a way that didn’t look totally manic.

Rhodey brought his hand up to his comms. “What’s that, Tony?” he asked. “You’re being dragged on the back of a train to almost certain death. I’m on my way. Sorry, Rogers. Emergency. Gotta. You know. Jet.”

Rhodey scuttled away as quickly as his ungainly suit would allow and Steve scowled at the place Rhodey had just vacated. He clenched his fists at his side, reminding himself that going apeshit at SHIELD would solve nothing. Some distant part of his overwhelmed, pissed-off psyche realized that he had never been this angry with Sam in all their time together and he had no idea how to deal with this particular level of negative emotion directed at the love of his life. Anger was usually for enemy combatants and Tony and Rhodey. This was new and decidedly uncomfortable.

Steve’s wristwatch beeped an alarm to tell him he had five minutes to get to Fury’s office. He stalked down the corridor, barely noticing that SHIELD agents were taking one look at him and finding somewhere else to be in a hurry.

When Fury saw him, he sat down in his director’s chair with an exasperated sigh. He held up a hand. “If this has anything – I mean, anything to do with your petty squabbles with Tony, Imma need you to leave my office and come back with a higher level of maturity.”

“This has nothing to do with Tony,” Steve growled.

Fury raised an eyebrow and Steve added through gritted teeth, “Sir.”

Fury chuckled. “I wasn’t looking for a ‘sir’ but I’ll take it. But a pointer for next time? Say it like you mean it.” He smiled. “Now put that scowl away. Call me overcautious, but I never did like trying to talk to an angry white boy.”

Steve grimaced and Fury shrugged.

“It’s your face, I guess. Maybe the serum keeps you from wrinkling. Now to the business of the day.”

Fury started to rattle off all the news items that he and Steve needed to keep an eye on and all the active ops they had in the field. Steve glared at a space over Fury’s left shoulder and tried to will the lava in his veins back into plain, ordinary blood, but the thoughts were coming in fast and hot. Not only had Sam orchestrated a way to keep Steve busy over the weekend, he had lied about who all was going to see his family _and_ Steve was the only significant other out of the loop. The most significant of the significant others, to be quite frank, because it was Sam’s mama! Sure, Miss Darlene went way back with Misty, had known Misty’s people since they had all lived in Harlem, and had thought that Misty and Sam were going to get married and have a bunch of baby geniuses together.

But _Rhodes? **Rhodes?**_

Surely, Steve ranked higher in importance to Sam’s mama than one Col. James Rupert Rhodes. Yes, Sam and Rhodes had grown into best friends over the last few years and yes, Sam and Rhodes had the black soldiers in the Air Force thing and yes, they often teamed up on missions and yes, if Rhodes wasn’t being a total asshole to Steve, he was charming and funny and smart. But dammit, Steve had been a part of Sam’s life longer ( _he had_ introduced _Sam and Rhodes the second time around. Hell! He had introduced Rhodes and Monica in New Orleans on that one mission that one time._ And _they had just started dating three months ago)._ And not to be that guy, but Rhodes wasn’t the one who made Sam come or wiped away his tears or kissed him after he ate a French onion bagel. That was all Steve. And still he didn’t get an invite to Atlanta. The injustice!

And then Steve had to ask: was Sam ashamed of him? And what for? Steve wasn’t bad-looking. He had a job. (A very flashy, cool job when he wasn’t being shot at and plotted against). He didn’t have the cleanest bill of mental health, but who did? And okay, he could be a little embarrassing when it came to pop culture references, but who could blame him? Was it his age? Because very technically, he was younger than Sam and was not – as Clint had accused him a time or two – a “cradle robber.” Steve had always thought that he had won a prize when it turned out that Sam loved him. Could it be that Sam felt that way too? That he realized that he could do better than Steve and didn’t want to entangle Steve in the family for easier parting of ways when he got good and tired of him. Was it—

“Captain Rogers, I assure you I did not call this meeting for my own health.”

“Sorry, I—”

“You were ignoring me.” Fury shook his head. “I don’t know how you expect me to put you on this mission this weekend if you’re not even paying attention while I debrief you.”

“What?”

Fury pursed his lips. “Sam said you were tired of working in the strategy room and wanted to do some field work this weekend. But right now you’re acting like maybe you should be at home.”

“Sam said what?” Steve asked.

“That you wanted to get in on the action.” Fury frowned. “Steve, should your face be that red? Are you having an allergic reaction to something?”

“I’m fine,” Steve said tightly. He only didn’t grip the arms of his chair because he was sure he would break them. “But you’re right. I shouldn’t be doing anything this weekend. Belay that order.” 

“Sure,” Fury said. “I’ll see if Tony wants to give up a weekend because you’re off your rocker.”

“Yeah,” Steve said distractedly. “I, um, have to go.”

If Sam wanted to play games, Steve was more than willing to play the goddamn game.

 

…. Two days later….

Sam didn’t hear the knock at the door because he was playing a loud, vindictive round of Uno with some of his cousins. He didn’t hear the doorbell either for the same reason, but his mama heard. She came out of the kitchen where she was putting the finishing touches (a sprinkle of paprika) on the potato salad that Rhodey had asked for.

Steve saw a host of micro-expressions pass across Miss Darlene’s face when she peeped out at him through the screen door. “Well, I’ll be,” she said as a honeycomb sweet smile spread across her plump face.

“Who’s at the door…Ma…m..uhhhh?” Sam skidded to a stop by his mother, but when he saw Steve, the words got a little thick and clumsy in his mouth. His whole face sagged before he could pull it together and say, “Steve...ah…what are you doing here? In Georgia? At my mama’s house?”

Steve glared at Sam without speaking, so much anger filling him up that he couldn’t even articulate any of the snazzy, cool openings he’d fashioned on the plane. “ _Laser tag. You’re it,”_ had been in the running.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Darlene said. She opened the screen door. “Come on in the house. We weren’t expecting you. Sam said you were busy. Always so busy busy busy is our Captain America.”

“Mama,” Sam said.

“Oh, you’ve been Steve to me since I heard they took you off the ice. Just a baby going through all that. And I said to myself, that boy is gonna be Captain America to so many people. But who’s gonna call him Steve? So I decided I would. Never thought I’d meet you of course.” As Miss Darlene said all this, she was pulling Steve out of his overcoat and jacket and then squeezing his arms in his denim button-down. “I’m so happy to meet you, Steve. And you can call me Miss Darlene. Misty calls me Mama Wilson, and you can do that too if you want to. Don’t make no never mind to me. Sam here doesn’t shut up about you. And I said to him, well when am I gonna meet this perfect man? But every time he comes down here, you’re off saving the world. And I can’t fault you for that.”

“Mama, give Steve some space,” Sam said faintly.

“Oh, you two saw each other yesterday. Don’t tell me y’all are still in the honeymoon stage where you have to have sweet and tender hellos every time.”

“Mama,” Sam said.

“Fine, but Steve, after y’all finish all that, come into the kitchen. I want you to meet some of Sam’s aunties.”

“If Sam will let me,” Steve said pointedly.

Miss Darlene frowned, then seemed to shrug off her confusion and squeezed his arm one last time before leaving them in the foyer.

Sam stared at the floor like he was gonna be quizzed on the grain of the wood at gunpoint.

“I have many questions,” Steve said, keeping his voice low and in control. “The first and most important being: How many times have you lied to me about coming to visit your mother?”

Sam winced and Steve nodded.

“Okay then. Let’s play a game of over/under, shall we?” He was impressed at how calm he felt now. On the entire plane ride, he felt like he might burst into flames. A real flight risk. “I’m gonna say a number and you’ll tell me if I’m over or under the number of times you’ve lied to me.”

“That’s not—” Sam began but quelled under Steve’s glare.

“Five.”

“Steve—”

“Five.”

Sam hung his head. “Under.”

“Ten?”

Sam grabbed at the back of his neck and seemed to be looking around the foyer for an escape route.

“Over or under, Sam.”

“Under.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “Follow up question,” he said quietly. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sam, you’re gonna have to do a hell of a lot better than ‘I don’t know. ‘You have lied to me again and again and again. And what’s worse, you apparently contrive behind my back on a regular basis. Laser tags and missions, this weekend. How ever was I supposed to do both? What if I had died on one of those missions that you’ve sent me on just so I wouldn’t embarrass you in front of your family.”

“Steve, you’re being very dramat—”

Steve scowled and Sam held up his hands.

“Fine,” Sam said. “I didn’t want you to meet my family. But it’s not what you think.”

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them to look at Steve, resolve gleamed from in his gaze, like he’d come to some very difficult decision and decided to cross the Rubicon anyway.

“I love these people,” he said quietly. “I really do. But they’re—I mean my mama is nice, but my aunts? My cousins? Even my sister. They have never liked a single person I brought home. Never. And they say stuff that gets in my head until I eventually break up with the person. It happened with Misty. And Treena and Michael and Chris and Simone and it would’ve happened with Riley if we’d both made it back. I didn’t want that—I don’t want that to happen with us.”

Steve leaned back against the front door. “So, you think our relationship is so fragile that your family saying a few mean things would tear us apart?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s not about us. My family is – okay, like with Michael, my cousin Peanut said that Mike looked like the kind of guy who couldn’t keep it in his pants. And boom, not a week later I found out Michael had been cheating on me our whole relationship. And Misty. She’s my best friend, right? I love her to bits. But I brought her around and my aunts said, ‘There’s no passion. What’s a relationship without passion?’ And you know what? They were right. Misty and I didn’t have it. We just got along really, really well and both liked sex.” Sam bit his bottom lip.  Mahogany bars of color hung high on his cheeks and there was such a desperate, pleading look in dark-as-molasses eyes. “My family is so good at telling you exactly what’s wrong when you think it’s perfect. One game of Uno and they’ve got you all figured out. And I don’t want to find out that there’s something wrong with you or us or lacking in our relationship.” Sam reached out for Steve and Steve let his hand be taken. “Because I think we’re perfect together,” Sam murmured. “I think _you’re_ perfect.” He raised Steve’s hand and kissed his knuckles, “and I want to keep thinking that for as long as possible.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Steve said before he hauled Sam forward by his T-shirt and kissed him full on the mouth. Sam tasted like sweet potato and mint, an oddly compelling combination that Steve needed to investigate properly while he sorted out all his feelings. One of his hands fisted in Sam’s t-shirt and his other cupped Sam’s head, traced down Sam’s neck (Sam shivered and made a little noise against his lips), and settled on the jut of his hip. Steve wasn’t so lost in the kiss that he thought it was a good idea to grab a handful of Sam’s ass in his mama’s foyer.

“I’m still mad at you,” he repeated between kisses to Sam’s chin and jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered.

Steve nipped Sam’s bottom lip. “You should have just told me.”

“You would have insisted on coming anyway.”

“Yes.”

Sam huffed. “This is why I lied, Steve.”

“As reasons go…” Steve said. He kissed Sam again, still curious about that sweet potato/mint mix. “As reasons go….”

“Yeah?” Sam sighed.

“It’s a pretty sweet one.”

“I’m a pretty sweet guy.”

“You’re a lying butthead but I love you.”

Sam moaned against his lips as Steve pinched his ass.

“Ahem,” a woman’s voice interrupted. Sam and Steve broke apart and Steve’s face immediately went up in flames. Miss Darlene rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on her yellow and white polka-dot apron. “You weren’t exactly in a locked room,” she said. “Stop looking so embarrassed, Steve.”

Steve ducked his head anyway, hoping against all logic that for once the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

“Kissing like that, y’all better be getting married,” Miss Darlene added. “And if that was a practice kiss for the altar, let me just say, reel it in a bit. God and your poor mama are gonna be in that church.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “If that was a marriage hint, I’m afraid our suggestion box is all filled up at the moment.” He didn’t sound even remotely embarrassed to have been caught making out against his mama’s front door.

“Well, this is a sanctified house, Sammy. I better not catch y’all doing anything but kissing under this roof ‘til I see some rings on fingers.”

“Even then you probably don’t wanna catch them at it,” Misty said, appearing at Miss Darlene’s side. “I don’t think even the power of prayer could clean that visual away. Hey Steve, I thought I heard an eagle caw out here.”

“Hey Misty,” Steve said.

She came up to him and squeezed his cheek. “Are you so pink because Sam got you all hot and bothered or did Mama Wilson here embarrass you?”

Steve’s face burned again and Misty laughed.

“Well, that answers that, doesn’t it?” she said. She patted his shoulder. “Come meet Sam’s folks. Give my poor Danny a break from the firing squad.”

“Firing squad?” Steve squeaked.

Sam shrugged and grabbed Steve’s hand. “You wanted this babe.”

 

....A Few Hours Later....

“Mama’s never gonna forgive us for going to a hotel,” Sam said as he wiggled down into the plush covers of their bed in the Marriott’s executive suite.

“You don’t seem so bothered about that,” Steve pointed out.

“Well, if we’d stayed under her roof, we couldn’t have make-up sex,” Sam said very logically. He tilted his head and bit his lip suggestively.

“You still haven’t told me what your family thought of me. Don’t think I didn’t notice you ushering me out to the car so you could hear the verdict.”

Sam laughed as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Well, first of all, I did _not_ usher you out to the car. I was saving my cousin Doonie from you and your ridiculously tight shirts. In a rare twist, there are _two_ gay cousins in my family, and Doonie has been suffering all night.”

Steve looked down at his T-shirt. “It’s not that tight.”

“Baby, we do this dance all the time. If I can’t get a good pinch of fabric, it’s too tight. Doonie came up to me and said he didn’t know it was possible to have an 8-pack.”

Steve covered his abdomen self-consciously, then: “Hey, you’re making me all self-conscious so you don’t have to answer the question.”

Sam circled one of his nipples with his finger and leered at Steve. It was more ridiculous than sexy, but it was working.

“Sam,” Steve said very seriously. “Are we gonna break up in a month because your family hates me and has poisoned you against me?”

Sam sighed, giving up on his seduction techniques. “They pointed out some things,” he admitted.

“Like?” Steve flexed his hands, the insecure beast in his chest crouching in anticipation of attack.

“Take off your clothes,” Sam said.

Steve huffed. “Stop trying to get into my pants, Sam.”

“Do you need help getting out of the shirt? Is that what this is about?” Sam climbed out of the bed and came to stand in front of Steve. He slid his hand up the back of Steve’s shirt and said, “There’s barely any room for me.”

Steve smiled. He had rued on more than one occasion how easily Sam could charm him. He didn’t know what it was. Was it the playful spark in his eye that hadn’t been diminished – or else, had miraculously reignited – in the face of a heap of tragedy? Or the curve of his lip, the gap-toothed smile behind it? It certainly had something to do with the way his touch relieved, aroused, and comforted Steve all at once. He could forget a lot when Sam was touching him.

“What did they say?” he asked, he sighed.

“Aunt Magda said that you have a flair for the dramatic,” Sam said. His fingers pushed at the tension Steve always carried in his lower back. Sam kissed Steve’s chin. “But I already knew that. I said to Aunt Magda, ‘This is the guy who flew to Atlanta to confront me about something he had two days to confront me about at home. This is the guy who pretended that he believed all my lies just for the drama of appearing on my mama’s front step.’”

Steve winced sheepishly.

“You should be glad, by the way, that I graciously _didn’t_ mention any of your other For the Drama moments.” Sam nipped Steve’s collarbone, as he massaged up his back.

“Is that all?” Steve asked. “I’m too dramatic?”

“Take off your clothes,” Sam said again.

Steve rolled his eyes and pulled off his shirt. Sam smiled. “There you go,” he murmured. He pulled Steve toward the bed and then switched their positions so he could push Steve down on to the mattress and straddle him. His hands roamed across Steve’s chest and abs, the sensation seesawing dramatically between tickling and teasing, which was Sam’s _modus operandi_ on the occasions he took charge.

“What else did they say?” Steve asked – gasped really, as Sam flicked his nipple.

“My cousin DeeDee said you come with a lot of baggage. Suitcases and trunks and duffel bags of it. And you like to carry them with you all the time, just to show you can. That you don’t put them down because you think you’re strong enough.”

Steve watched Sam’s face as Sam dragged his fingernails along Steve’s happy trail, back up to trace the delicate lines of his collarbone. His eyes were narrow with focus, his lips slightly parted, his eyebrows drawn together. Steve wondered what thoughts Sam had attached to his cousin’s judgment, but he hesitated to ask. He lifted Sam up slightly and pulled him forward so that he was sitting on Steve’s dick.

Sam laughed. “Who’s seducing who here?” he asked.

Steve ran his hands along the outside of Sam’s thick thighs. “You’re on top,” he said. “You’re in charge.”

“Is that a recent rule change?” Sam asked. “Because I have been on top many times and haven’t been in charge of jack shit.”

“Was that another thing your family picked up on?” Steve asked. He rolled his hips up against the swell of Sam’s ass.

“Actually,” Sam huffed. “Yes. Someone might have mentioned that you’re too controlled.”

“Somebody?” Steve asked. “Are you sure that wasn’t you?”

“I’d never complain about your sense of control,” Sam said coyly. He ground down on Steve and grinned devilishly. “It has been a constant source of joy for me.”

Steve’s dick leapt eagerly for what Sam was offering, but his mouth was ever a problem. “What if they’re right? About my baggage?”

Sam shrugged. “They’re not.”

“Sam—“

“I’m not blinded by my love for you, Steve.” He smiled. “They were wrong. I’ve seen you put it down. I’ve seen you lay it all down to get into bed with me. Or to talk with some vet you barely know who’s going through it. Sometimes you put it down because you’re genuinely happy about something. Bucky will make you smile about some dumb thing you two did in the 30s. Or Wanda will be super into showing you a new thing she can do and you’ll be so proud of her, you forget to hold on to all your hurt and pain.” He brushed his thumb over the wrinkle in Steve’s brow. “It doesn’t happen often, but you do. And I know, I just know, one of these days, you’ll stop picking it all back up again. Maybe you’ll let one or two things go, then another couple. ‘Til you realize you’re light as a bird. My family… they got that one wrong.”

 “They’ve always been right, before,” Steve said gloomily.

Sam smiled. “You were the first super soldier, weren’t you? Well, Isaiah Bradley was. So, you were the first _white_ super soldier, weren’t you? Why can’t you be the first person my family didn’t get 100% right?”

“Law of averages? Can’t be first all the time?” Steve suggested.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just fishing. You want me to tell you how much I love you and in how many ways.” Sam dragged his finger down Steve’s sternum. “But I’m much better at showing.” He shuffled down Steve’s body and hooked his thumbs into Steve’s pajama bottoms. “So are we having make-up sex or nah?”

Steve laughed. “Are you gonna gonna lie to me elaborately and unnecessarily anymore?”

“Define ‘unnecesarrily’.”

“Sam.”

“Well,” Sam said defensively, “this felt like a necessary lie to me.”

“Lives-in-dangers lies are the only necessary lies in this relationship.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “I can already think of half a dozen ways that’s not true.”

Steve laughed. “We’re not making up until you promise no more lies.”

 “Fine,” Sam said. “No more lies unless lives are in danger. Can I suck your dick now?”

Steve laughed and propped himself up on his elbows for a better view. Then: "Wait, how was I supposed to go on a mission  _and_ do laser tag with Clint and Nat?"

Sam smiled sheepishly. "I also had America on speed-dial to have a mentoring emergency if you got too pressed about coming. And I _might_ have had a provoking text to start an argument between you and Tony if that didn't distract you enough."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Alright, don't tell me anymore."

"Good," Sam said. "I can think of much better uses of my mouth." 

**Author's Note:**

> I have lots of arguments and disagreements between Sam and Steve all lined up. Of course, Sam and Steve are (eventually) adults about all their squabbles and (hence the title of the series) kiss and make-up, but I figured I'd make a collection of all the scenarios I have been casually imagining.


End file.
